


Eric Bittle is a Problem

by maiNuoire



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, by bitty's butt, getting together happens off screen, jack is very distracted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 12:59:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6285469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maiNuoire/pseuds/maiNuoire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric Bittle is becoming a problem. Not the problem Jack thought he was going to be in the beginning, no, he hasn’t had to worry about Bittle not pulling his weight on the team since pretty much the first time they played together. And certainly not now, when they work so well together on the ice. And off of it, too; it was surprising, but Jack considers Bittle to be one of his greatest friends, even if sometimes it feels like there’s maybe something shimmering around the edges of their relationship, something Jack doesn’t quite understand, it’s good with them, comfortable and fun in a way Jack isn’t used to.</p><p> </p><p>But he’s becoming a problem, worse, a distraction. A menace, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eric Bittle is a Problem

**Author's Note:**

> I did a giveaway for reaching 300 tumblr followers, and @redporkpadthai requested Zimbits and Bitty Booty Appreciation, and this happened.
> 
> I may revisit this 'verse and fill in the time gaps (and maybe add sexytimes) if you guys like it, because I love these hockey nerds, and I wanted to avoid angst, which lets be honest, is going to be inevitable with these two getting together.
> 
> So, I hope you enjoy this silliness, and if you want to send a prompt, find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/poetry-protest-pornography)!
> 
> Updated a/n: When Jack says "Bienvenue" he means "you're welcome" I know the French is "de rien" however, according to Google, the Quebecois version/slang is "bienvenue". Isn't language nifty! If you are French Canadian and I am incorrect/have been misled by the internet, please let me know!

Eric Bittle is becoming a problem. Not the problem Jack thought he was going to be in the beginning, no, he hasn’t had to worry about Bittle not pulling his weight on the team since pretty much the first time they played together. And certainly not now, when they work so well together on the ice. And off of it, too; it was surprising, but Jack considers Bittle to be one of his greatest friends, even if sometimes it feels like there’s maybe something shimmering around the edges of their relationship, something Jack doesn’t quite understand, it’s good with them, comfortable and fun in a way Jack isn’t used to.

 

But he’s becoming a problem, worse, a  _ distraction _ . A menace, really.

 

The first time it’s a problem, Jack and Shitty had gotten back from a beer run, and Shitty was explaining some essential feminist theory to him as they made their way from the car to the Haus, “And that, my Canadian friend, is why intersectionality is so important. Like, you can’t really understand  _ anything  _  unless you understand all of the realities and identities that inform a person’s existence, my man. I me-” as Jack turns to enter the kitchen, the rest of Shitty’s lesson is lost to a loud thrum in Jack’s ear that he distantly realizes is the rush of his own blood through his veins as he almost fumbles the case of beer and the bag of fancy nuts and chocolates that he thought Eric might appreciate- for his  _ bakin _ g- and had purchased on a whim.

 

He manages to save the beer and the bag of goodies, but not to suppress the inelegant “ _ Buh _ -” that escapes his slackened mouth. Because Bitty is bent over at the waist, looking into the oven and making a satisfied little hum at the progress of whatever is baking in there, and he’s wearing those shorts, the short, short shorts that barely qualify as such in Jack’s opinion. And the way he’s bending is causing his muscles to tense and bulge, and  _ his butt _ . Oh,  _ Crisse _ , his butt is like a work of art and on display right in front of Jack, and he is in so. Much. trouble.

 

Jack manages to turn his random noise into a reasonable approximation of “B-Bittle,” and to reassemble his face into a generally neutral expression as Bitty stands and turns toward him and Shitty, who now stands next to Jack and thankfully doesn’t mention his near stumble. The late afternoon sun slanting through the window catches in Eric’s hair and he appears to glow for a moment, Jack manages not to choke on his sharply indrawn breath at the sight, because Eric Bittle is beautiful, and Jack is awed that he hadn’t noticed it until now.

 

“Oh, hi, y’all,” Bitty says brightly, a genuine smile lighting his face and stretching his lips distractingly. “You’re just in time, because this pie is almost done, so if you wanted some, you’ll just have to wait for a few while it settles,” Bitty checks the timer with a brief glance before looking back toward the doorway where Jack is still frozen, he quirks a perfectly shaped blond brow as if to ask what Jack’s problem is, but when he speaks again, he says “Did you two have fun at the store?”

 

Shitty moves into the kitchen, patting Jack’s shoulder on the way, “It smells swawesome in here, Bits. You’re the best!” Bitty grins and a slightly pink tinge paints his cheeks as he watches Shitty begin to put away his beer and the few other groceries they procured. He looks back at Jack, eyes darting briefly to the bag he is clenching before settling back on his face, a curious little smile on his pink lips. It spurs Jack into action, finally, and he moves into the kitchen holding the bag out like an awkward shield.

 

“These are for you,” he says, sounding too loud to his own ears, and maybe too loud in general, because Shitty looks over from where he’s stacking beer into the fridge with a strange look on his face that Jack  _ will not _ analyze later. He continues, careful to regulate his volume this time, “Um, for your baking, I mean. I thought you’d like them,” he amends. Jack can feel his face heating, hopes Bitty doesn’t notice, that he writes it off as the heat from the oven, but when Bitty takes the bag and their fingers brush he feels the flush deepen. It gets worse still when Eric opens the bag and he makes an excited little sound.

 

“Oh, gosh, Jack, thank you! I know just what to make with these,” Bitty places his hand on Jack’s forearm and squeezes gently, repeating a thank you and grinning at him, his smile is open and fond and it warms Jack in a different way than the hot flush that he knows is painting his face and neck now.

 

“ _ Bienvenue _ ,” Jack says, voice a little too quiet and close now. Bitty smiles at his slip into Quebecois. It’s almost too easy to slip into the quiet of the moment, the little bubble of space around them, warmed by the sunlight through the window. They stay close, looking at each other for what feels like a long time, but realistically can’t be more than a second or two, then the sound of Shitty shutting the the refrigerator door and exclaiming “Shit, Bits, that pie smells fuckin’ delicious! Think it’s done yet,” effectively breaks the moment.

 

Bitty laughs and turns away from Jack, his fingers trail along Jack’s arm leaving a warm tingle lingering on his skin. The buzzer sounds as Bitty steps away fully, and Jack shakes himself, realizes he’s still holding the case of beer and places it on the counter. Bitty looks at him briefly as he takes the pie from the oven, and Jack feels the confusion rumbling through him play across his face, but Bitty thankfully looks away before he notices.

 

*****

 

Two days later, the team is working out together. Jack is spotting Ransom, and Shitty is doing leg presses nearby. Across the gym, Bitty and Holster are doing squats, which is proving to be a problem for Jack.

 

See, Bitty is on the small side, but he’s been skating since he was little, been playing hockey for years. So, he’s small, but he’s  _ strong _ . He’s well muscled, and made up of long lines and sun kissed skin, and he’s currently doing  _ squats _ . His thigh muscles bunch up, and his back muscles tighten and cord, his biceps bulge enticingly where he supports the weighted bar that is not quite resting on his strong shoulders, the sleeveless shirt he’s wearing clinging to him where sweat has caught the cotton. And his butt. Once again, his butt is on display, the sleek, firm mounds that jut out at an intriguing angle.

 

Jack feels himself move slightly, swaying in the direction of Bitty and his glorious behind. It's as his feet are thinking about moving where his body is leaning that a slightly panicked “Jack! Dude,” catches his attention. He's startled to see Ransom, red faced and slightly shaking under the weight of the barbell he's holding up.

 

An apologetic gulp and a slew of apologies rush from his lips, a whip fast mix of English and French Canadian that everyone chirps him for (even though they find it secretly endearing) that is nearly indecipherable as he grabs the bar from Ransom’s shaky grasp and sets it on the rest, embarrassment making his skin feel hot and too tight. He avoids looking at his friend even to acknowledge Rans’ huff of laughter and “Thanks, man”, fiddles with the weights instead, and definitely does not look back toward Bitty, even though he can hear Holster whooping enthusiastically, a “Get it, Bitty,” echoing in the large space and clashing with the clang of metal on metal, practically demanding he look and marvel at Bittle’s mastery of the art of the weight assisted squat. But he does. not. Look.

 

Until Ransom and Shitty both whistle impressed sounding sighs between their teeth, Ransom adding a supremely unhelpful “Whoa, dudes, check out Bitty with the squats. Bro is  _ tight _ ,” and Jack can’t ignore that. Not that he wants to. He wishes he was wearing tighter shorts, and has to excuse himself as Holster helps Bitty rack the weights, the satisfied, accomplished smile on Bitty’s face is lovely, even through the sweat and exertion reddened sheen.

 

*****

 

Practice that week is a nightmare. Everywhere he looks the perfect swell of Eric Bittle ass taunts him. He ends up skating behind him, because of course he does, and the powerful movements of Eric’s legs, gliding effortlessly and expertly over the ice, make his butt clench and relax in a mildly hypnotizing manner, and Jack finds himself almost tripping over his skates more than once.

 

In the locker room, he tries his best to avoid Bitty at all costs. The risk of catching him in the showers haunts him, though he mostly acknowledges that he thinks about it at night when he’s alone in his bed and trying to imagine what Bitty’s skin would feel like under his fingertips. On Friday, he catches a brief flash of bare bottom as Eric enters the shower, a split second glimpse before the curtain gets drawn and Jack has to spend extra time in his own shower to avoid embarrassing himself.

 

*****

When he’s in Providence, lonely in a way that he’s used to, but unaccustomed to after his time at Samwell, he has firsthand knowledge of what Eric Bittle’s skin feels like, how the rounded mounds of his butt fit in Jack’s palms, what his mouth tastes like, and how his graceful movement translates when they’re both naked and pressed together.

 

He learns that his butt is no less distracting with this knowledge, though.

 

George is over for dinner, take-away from an Indian restaurant they both enjoy, and Jack is trying to pay attention to what she’s saying about the upcoming press junket, but he knows that there’s a party at the Haus tonight, and he had wanted to be there celebrating Samwell’s latest victory. His phone is buzzing rather frequently, and he makes an excuse of refilling their water glasses and sneaks a peek at it in the kitchen (the kitchen that sold him on the apartment, a certain baker in mind as he hunted for a home in Rhode Island). 

 

There are several “Wish you were here” messages from the team, and a picture message from Lardo with the caption “Look at your boy go!” Jack looks at the picture and feels his pulse kick up. It’s Bitty, those ridiculous (amazing) short shorts showing off miles of strong legs and clinging to his ass in a manner that is frankly  _ obscene _ and probably defies several principles of physics while Eric does a rather impressive kegstand. 

 

Suddenly, George is standing in the doorway of the kitchen and calling Jack’s name, sounding like she’s already done it several times. There’s a concerned look on her face as she notices Jack’s glazed over appearance as he stares at his phone. “Is everything alright, Jack,” she asks sincerely, and Jack feels unaccountably guilty.

 

He clears his throat, lowering his phone and tucking it away in his pocket, making a mental note to call Bitty later to  _ discuss _ those shorts. “Yes, sorry. There was a message from a friend, I got distracted,” he admits.

 

George’s face softens into a smile, it’s warm and full of understanding. “Everything alright with your boyfriend, then,” she asks gently and a little too casually.

 

Jack’s brain stutters for a moment, the knowledge that George knows, that he doesn’t have to tell her tonight as he had planned, screams through his head for the time it takes him to take a deep breath and think of Eric’s palm warm and pressed against his own. He smiles, looking from his toes up to George’s face, rubs the back of his neck, “I was hoping we could talk about that, actually.”

 

“Sure, let’s finish eating and we can talk about whatever you want,” she replies, turning to go back to the dining table. Jack follows after sending a quick “I’ll need to talk to you later” text to Bitty.

 

*****

 

He comes home from a week on the road tired and looking forward to a long, hot shower and a night in his own bed. What he finds is the warm smell of maple and cinnamon, soft music playing, and Eric Bittle, on all fours looking for something under the couch. He barely processes the rest, gets caught on the sight of the two perfectly formed globes of Eric’s behind, encased in tight, white briefs and nothing else. The slightly oversized SMH shirt he’s wearing has slid up his inclined back, exposing more delicious skin, the wriggle of his hips as he fishes for whatever he’s looking for makes his muscles bunch, highlighting the swell of his ass with each tense and release.

 

He must make a sound, because Bitty snaps upright and turns on his knees to look at Jack, a smile already spreading his lips. “Hey, sweetheart! Er, surprise! I wasn’t expecting you home for a little while yet,” Eric stands and walks over to where Jack stands not quite in the living room, throws his arms around Jack’s neck and giving him a small kiss. “I wanted to be all ready for you, but then I was a little late, and I dropped the-” Jack cuts him off with a kiss, deeper than the greeting peck, and growing in intensity.

 

They don’t get this often, Jack’s schedule and Eric’s not allowing for as many visits as they’d like. The plan is for Bitty to move in after graduation, but that’s months and months away, and Jack is greedy for his presence. He eagerly fills his hands with the firm,round globes of Eric’s butt, kneading the warm flesh and moaning into his boyfriend’s mouth. Eric meets his kiss just as eagerly, the curve of his mouth making Jack smile into it, too.

 

They pull away to catch their breath, grinning at each other and running warm hands over one another as if memorizing details for future recall, Jack is using his grip on Eric’s behind to rock them together gently, the friction quickly getting a reaction from both of them, their breaths quickening. 

 

The oven buzzer interrupts them, and Jack groans into Bitty’s neck. “Hold that thought, baby. I’ll be right back,” Eric kisses Jack’s nose and pulls away reluctantly, rushing to tend to his pie. His briefs are slightly askew from Jack’s attentions, and his rushed walk makes the exposed curve jiggle slightly,  making Jack’s brain, his whole body, really, feel fuzzy for a moment.

 

Jack groans again, mutters a curse to himself and then half shouts as he follows the man he loves toward the kitchen, “You, Eric Bittle, are a menace!” A loud crack of laughter answers him.

  
Bitty makes it up to him later.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, what'd you think?


End file.
